The Race to Freedom

Dante 2

He felt thirsty. Obviously, he couldn't drink from the sea. There was no point standing on the beach, loitering like a dropped lemon. He had to explore, find water or something; anything that could help him.

The jungle in front of him looked mysterious, its shady branches hiding more than Dante cared imagine. But he had to wade through, because otherwise he would be stranded on this desolate shore forever and Dante knew he would never let that happen to him. He was a survivor. He was scared, but he wouldn't let the fear kill him.

The first leaf was sharp to the touch, a large fan-like object that seemed to bounce up and down in accordance to the light breeze floating through the air. He scrabbled his way around it, blissfully on some kind of makeshift path with tiny roots that poked up from the ground.. Behind the first wall, it was coolly dark with tendrils of light poking their way from the green canopy above. He could hear the soft chirping of some sort of animal, perhaps a bird or amphibious creature. He didn't know. He was intent on finding some sort of river, or stream. Something.

Movement stirred ahead. Dante paused, heart beginning to pick up the pace as fast as his legs had stopped. "Who's there?" he asked, loudly with a quiver of nervousness in his voice. 

For a few moments, no answer. Then, a boy appeared, on the verge of teenagehood, dark hair flopping as he jogged steadily towards Dante. He stopped a few metres away, grinning.

"Things are stopping the gate  here, aye?" he said with an odd accent. Dante had never heard of it before. 

 He wasn't able to know how to reply though, and just went with a simple "Hello" after a few awkward moments. "They are different, I have to say" he said cautiously. "Do you know anything more than me?"

"Things are stopping the gate here, aye" He repeated, except in a far different tone that made him seem as if he were speaking more in the form of answering than questioning.

Dante looked at him oddly. What was up with this kid?

The Gate Boy grinned at Dante, the same way one might grin if they had discovered their long lost brother buried in a pile of cake icing. He pointed to the ground, where dead tropical leaves had fallen, their lank crispness visible in pure sight. The season had to be autumn, the Season leading to the harsh cold of winter.

Dante met the boy's eyes again, and he nodded gravely. As the temperature grew colder, survival in an unforgiving cesspool of uncertainty was going to get even harder. Dante hadn't eluded himself to these dangers. He just didn't know how to face them yet. He needed some time to figure these things out.

Gate Boy didn't seem perturbed by the grave realization, as he began to happily play in the ground, spreading the leaves into wild life, and letting them flutter down into brand new coffins of death. He was grinning even more widely, a facial expression that churned Dante's stomach the same way lottery balls churned before spitting out their random code of fortune.

Edgily, he decided It was time to walk onward. Surely there were some normal people...somewhere? He left the Gate, playing in the mud, the sounds of his play growing ever more distant.

Walking was all Dante could possibly do. He had awoken into a world he knew less about than a newborn baby, and only walking felt familiar. He thought about his parents, wondering if they were questioning where he was, why he wasn't picking up his phone. He pictured the shocked looks on their faces as they slowly realized he was missing, and the evermore difficult worry that came attached. He might never go back to his world, little Brighton & Hove of 2016. Or maybe that would be the prize, he reasoned; the opportunity for escape. But how could they possibly send him back just like that...?

"CHUH!" A high-pitched voice suddenly screamed. He paused, fixed with terror as an unknown battering ram ripped him off his feet and slammed him into the  ground. A moment later he was blinking into the sharp point of a spear. The owner was shouting in a less high-pitched voice now. He spoke in a language Dante had never heard of, but dressed exactly like one of the tribal Native Americans he had read about online.